


cough it out

by snewsies (waltswhits)



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans Spot Conlon, race thinks hes straight. someone help this boy, racetrack higgins is clueless, skateboardin' boys, spot being...spot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltswhits/pseuds/snewsies
Summary: A new boy sits next to Race in class. He doesn't really know how to deal with that.





	cough it out

**Author's Note:**

> what i’m trying to say is  
> you never know what you’ve been through  
> do you pause and cough it out?  
> i cough it out, i cough it out, i cough it out.  
> i like the in betweens  
> i like the time it takes to get somewhere  
> if you know what i mean  
> wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care  
> i just don’t care, i just don’t care, i just don’t care.  
> \- cough it out, the front bottoms

Race left his dorm room, headphones in, a beat-up backpack slung over one shoulder, and skateboard in hand. He had slept through his first alarm and was running late to his first class- as usual. Exiting through the main doors, he set his skateboard down and kicked off the pavement.  
He coasted past two blocks of campus, then slowed to a stop by his destination. Race kicked the board up into his hands and made his way across the lawn, passing a huddle of loitering art students.

“I’m telling you, Stephy, Marx was really onto something there,” A tall boy deadpans, before bursting into laughter. A blonde, wearing round glasses and a wardrobe obviously thrifted from someplace you’ve never heard of, punches him lightly in the arm. “Fuck off,” he mutters with a smile, taking a drag and blowing out the smoke in the face of the other. 

On instinct, Race’s fingers twitch and pat the pocket of his jean jacket. He silences the impulse, chewing harder on his minty bubblegum, and walks through the door.

One painfully long elevator ride up seven floors, and Race swaggered into the lecture hall- only seven minutes late. He dropped his bag at an empty desk and slouched into the plastic chair. Pulling out one earphone, he glanced up at the professor, who was droning on about factorials in painful detail, and put the earphone back in. 

He sent a text about just how bored he was, then let his eyes drift up to the ceiling. One more hour off his life, he thought, tapping his fingers on the table top.  
He started to alter his tapping to follow along with the music that drowned out most noise, his nails making a cacophony of sound. Race was deep in a daydream when something struck him on the back of his head, sending him crashing back to reality. He yanked out the headphones and turned to find out who had done it, and came face to face with a scowling boy, one desk over. 

He frowned at Race. “Could you pay attention maybe? Because that noise you’re making is drilling a hole into my skull and I don’t have any evil spirits I need driven out.”  
Race’s jaw hung open. He’d never seen him before, and the interjection was startling, despite how interesting he found him.  
“Uh. Yeah, sure I can....pay attention..”  
He pulled a spiral notebook out of his backpack and placed it on the table. Opening to a page free of doodles, he dug around in his bag for something to write with, but all he found was an empty chip wrapper. Sighing, Race tapped his fingers gently next to the other boy’s work, whose head immediately shot up with the noise.  
“You got a pencil?” Race mumbled. The boy let out an immense sigh, and handed over a ballpoint pen- the same one that must have hit him on the back of his head.  
“Uh, thanks...” Race trailed off, as the boy returned to his notes.

The professor continued to speak in a voice so monotone it was putting half of the lecture hall to sleep. Without his headphones, and with a pen in his hand, Race channeled all the energy he could muster into listening to the lesson. He took notes on two whole slides of the badly-designed PowerPoint before his pen drifted to the margins, doodling out constellations. 

Race didn't see any point in listening. He was a music major and only there for the one non-major credit he needed, for fuck’s sake.  
He found his eyes wandering over to the new boy, taking in his features as he listened attentively. He was very short, somewhat feminine looking, and dressed in a t-shirt, dark jeans, and converse sneakers. Despite his size, he had an inexplicable air of strength about him. But what really fascinated Race was his eyes. They seemed...incredibly intense. He could almost get lost in those eyes. Well, if Race was gay, of course. 

Race realized he’d been staring for far too long and yanked his head back to the board. He’d missed at least five slides, and had even less of an idea what the professor was talking about now. He gave up on attempting to listen, and went back to doodling a sloppy Ursa Major at the bottom of the page. He twisted the pen between his fingers and watched it as it turned. He wrote down a few stanzas and a chord or two of some melody floating in the back of his head, and then bordered the lyrics with stars and circles. 

Thankfully, the professor announced that the lecture was finished, and Race quickly flung his things off his desk and into his book bag. He plugged the headphones back in, picked up his skateboard from where it was leaning a desk away, and beelined toward the exit. 

He was setting down his board and about to go back to his room (and to take a nap) when someone tapped him firmly on the shoulder.  
It was the boy from class, looking at Race with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed.  
“Pen.” He stated more than asked.  
Race blew out a puff of air, more than a little annoyed. He made a very long show of taking off his backpack, unzipping all three pockets, and searching through each one, dramatically, before finally pulling out the pen with a flourish.  
The boy pulled out his hand to take it, but Race pulled it back.  
“You want this, tell me your name.”  
The boy’s face contorted in disgust. “And why would I do that?”  
“Because...I have your pen, and you want it back.”  
The boy took a moment to consider, then smirked. “Keep it.”  
The cunning smile dropped off of Race’s face. “Fine.” He muttered.  
The boy’s smirk widened, and with a coy, knowing wave of his hand, he walked down the steps and out of sight, leaving Race speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you catch the specsromeo cameo? yeah i love them and i cant wait for them to actually be in the plot.  
> follow me on tumblr @ snewsies for more writing, pictures of spot conlon, and my random, gay thoughts.
> 
> note: this is currently ON HOLD as i am working on a different work, but i'll be right back to it as soon as i can!


End file.
